


the starting line

by amuk



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Budding Love, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family, Father-Son Relationship, First Crush, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Rivals, Sibling Bonding, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Jon was certain that Damian was an a-hole and every other swear word his mom told him never to use in front of his father. Damian thought that Jon was a crude, dull-witted farmer. Their schools were as different as can be, their personalities too, and it was only a love for track that kept them in each other’s orbit.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Jonathan Kent, Clark Kent & Jonathan Samuel Kent, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne
Kudos: 20





	1. The Race

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: DamiJon, but in a non-superhero AU where everything else stays as close to the same as possible. Why would Jon be interested in Damian?
> 
> For marchlion for the damijon exchange. The short answer would be THEY NEVER MEET. That also goes against the idea of the premise, so I wrangled a few things around. XD I think a Damian in this AU would have been softer since Brutalia probably wouldn’t have split up? But since that goes against the idea, I had him soften up instead by keeping the batfam intact. Unfortunately, there’s only so much softening Damian can do. This fic has become a monster, so you’ll forgive me if I get them to that early crush stage, I hope.

The stadium thrummed with energy. Parents stood and cheered as their kids stepped onto the field, horns blared, and the announcer was barely audible over ruckas. Jon only had to close his eyes and he felt like he was surrounded by a cacophony of sound.

The only problem? It wasn’t for him. Opening his eyes, Jon stared grumpily at the eight teenagers taking their positions on the track field. One of those lanes would have been his. _Should_ have been his. If only he hadn’t tripped during the semi-finals. Jon glared at his foot before slumping lower in his seat.

“This sucks,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“It does,” Iris West, his teammate agreed. Her long red hair was still tied up in a bun to keep it out of her way when she ran, despite the fact that she’d lost the quarterfinals. Glancing at him, she pouted. “Just once, I want to be out there.”

“You’re improving.” That was the understatement of the century. She’d joined the track team after him, and within months she’d gone from average to one of the fastest in their school. Some called her gifted, but he’d seen how hard she’d worked. It was only a matter of time before she was the top in their district. Pulling up his jersey, he dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “You’ll probably place next time.”

She punched his shoulder, grinning. “Well, you’re _definitely_ placing next meet. Just make sure to tie your shoes this time.”

“I did!” Jon frowned, gesturing at his shoes. “I just tripped.”

“Over what, a pebble?” Iris snorted. “Please. If you need help tying your shoes, Jai can show you how. It took him years to figure it out.”

Jon laughed. “Your brother’s going to kill you.”

A horn blared, interrupting their conversation, and Jon reluctantly turned his attention back to the track. Luckily for them, all the losers got to sit in the center of the field, right up close to the action.

He didn’t feel lucky at all. Sighing, he leaned forward and watched as the eight runners crouched, their bodies tense as they waited for the second horn. His own muscles were on edge, as though they too had expected him to run again today.

The horn sounded. The runners took off. At 5k, it was more of an endurance game. Jon never considered himself a patient guy. His mom wasn’t all that patient either, so he blamed her entirely for that. It didn’t surprise anyone that he ran the 100m and 200m races at all; he’d always been good at short bursts.

For reasons he couldn’t even explain to himself, he really liked the 5k.Probably not enough to ever get first, but more than enough to place decently. His dad said he took after him there, so maybe it was just the Kent in him.

The runners turned the curve. It’d take 11 more laps before they finished. The group was a fairly uniform one, everyone running together, though the one at the front was a really short guy.

“Oof, poor guy.” Iris shook her head sadly. “He should have held back more.”

Jon almost agreed. Only, as they turned the corner, as he saw the forerunner jog closer and closer, he couldn’t mistake his expression for anything but determination. Sweat dripped down his short black hair, hitting his light brown skin. His strong jaw gritted as he forced himself to run further and further. Everything about the guy screamed _I’ll win_ , and there was a fire in his eyes that Jon couldn’t look away from. It was only when he turned the corner again and only the _Wayne_ on his jersey was visible that Jon even thought to blink.

As the race continued, as the laps and competitors decreased, Wayne stubbornly kept a hold of the lead. It was probably the stupidest maneuver in a long-distance run. Somehow, the guy made it work for him. Whenever someone tried to pass him, he picked up speed, increasing the pace of the pack.

Whoever he was, he had stamina.

A bell rang. The final lap. Wayne sprinted now. His legs pumped and Jon almost stood up, energized.

Everyone else ate his dust as he raced down the final meters of the track. One more step and he was through the finish line. The audience stood up and cheered. Jon leaped to his feet and roared.

Damn, he really wished he could have run the race now.


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian hated living with his father and his strange brood of rejects.
> 
> Well, hate might not be the word for it. Maybe it was the stockholm syndrom, but he didn't actually mind all that much. He drew the line, however, with his father's unimportant friends and their very unimportant son.

There was nothing more aggravating than living with his father. No, actually, Damian’s father was fine, it was his father’s family that was annoying. There were times when he wondered why his parents divorced, and all of those questions were wiped away at the sight of his father’s brood of orphans.

Well, he hoped they were orphans. For all he knew, they were illegitimate children he’d have to fight off his father’s will. Before his father died, preferably—he didn’t want a long dispute for the Wayne inheritance. Damian had _plans_ and with his mother’s fortunes and his father’s business, he could revolutionize the world.

His mother wouldn’t expect anything less, after all.

“Congrats!” An unwelcome arm slung around Damian’s shoulder as he left the boy’s locker room, pulling him closer to the oldest of his so-called siblings. Dick Grayson squeezed him tight and ruffled his hair as they walked into the stadium lobby. “You were like a mile ahead of everyone.”

“Of course I was,” Damian sniffed disdainfully. He eyed Dick’s arm but in the end didn’t pull away. It was too much effort fighting Dick instead of just accepting his overly-open brand of affection.

“And so humble too.” Tim Drake rolled his eyes from Dick’s other side, sarcasm dripping with every word. They hadn’t gotten along since their first meeting. Damian doubted they ever wood.

“Humbleness is for the foolish and the weak.” Damian leaned forward, arching a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow. “Which are you, again?”

As Tim sputtered into a rage, Cassandra Cain squeezed Damian’s hand. “You did…well.” She half-signed as she spoke, still adjusting to her new vocabulary.

“Thank you.” She was also the only one who’s opinion he cared about in this hodge podge family.

Just as he was feeling pleased, Stephanie Brown leaned over his shoulder and pinched his cheek. “Aww, you’re so shy! Why can’t you ever be honest?”

Her arms hung over his shoulders, pressing Dick’s arm into his neck, and Damian shook them both off before he choked. “What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as the blonde buried her hands in her jean’s pockets.

“What, can’t a gal support her friend?” Stephanie shook her head, looking more amused than insulted. “You know, you can just admit you’re happy, right?”

Damian glared at her. Stephanie was like a stray dog. He wasn’t sure exactly when she’d wormed her way into their household or if she was dating either Cassandra or Tim right now, but either way he couldn’t figure out how to get her back out.

Even Alfred liked her, making it impossible for him to do anything overt.

“He’s never happy,” Tim quipped, always ready with a barb.

“He’s happy now,” Dick corrected, ruffling Damian’s hair again. “First place!”

“It’d be embarrassing if I got anything else,” Damian muttered. Maybe it was the Stockholme speaking, but Damian found he minded his family’s antics less and less with every extended stay. It irritated his mother to no end.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

By now they’d left the corridor leading from the changerooms to the main foyer. Throngs of families consoled their children over their losses, and the sound of barely restrained sobbing was barely audible in the dim. Scattered about the room, a handful of families congratulated their children for their victories.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted his father talking to another parent. Even in his forties, Bruce Wayne cut an impressive figure. Many eyes were on him, partially due to his square shoulders, his strong jaw, his bright blue eyes. Mostly though, because he smelled of money and these meets were the only times these plebes would ever see him.

Noticing him, his father waved and made his way over. The man he was talking to followed after, and if his father had a boxer’s build, this man had a farmer’s. Every part of him looked bulky and big and Damian wrinkled his nose in disgust. This definitely wasn’t one of his father’s business friends.

“Mr. Kent!” Whatever he was, he also wasn’t a stranger. Immediately, Dick released Damian and sprang forward. If he had been bright before, he was downright sunny now. “It’s been so long!”

Damian frowned. _Kent_. That sounded familiar.

“Way too long, Dick.” Mr. Kent chuckled, sounding almost affectionate as he hugged Dick. “You’ve gotten so big.”

“Come over more often and it won’t be so surprising.” Dick grinned as he pulled back.

There was something revolting about the way the rest of them stepped forward, like eager puppies for Mr. Kent’s attention. His father neatly side-stepped them and approached Damian. “Clark Kent,” he explained when Damian raised a brow. “Old friend and reporter.” That explained it, Damian must have read an article of his once. “I don’t think he’s been over since you’ve arrived, actually.”

As though sensing they were talking about him, Mr. Kent looked up and grinned. “Your son looks just like you.”

“And as sharp as his mother.” His father grinned wryly, casually wrapping an arm around Damian in a loose hug. It felt oddly affectionate. “Clark, this is Damian.”

Damian curtly nodded his head, already disinterested. There was no need to get into a reporter’s good graces, especially a no-name like him.

“He’s about Jon’s age.” Mr. Kent looked behind him and called out, “Hey! Lois!”

In the distance, Damian made out a middle-aged woman, roughly his father’s age. Grey streaked her black hair and she rolled her eyes as she headed over. “Should have figured you were here.”

“Sorry for disappearing like that.” Mr. Kent looked utterly unrepentant and she lightly punched his shoulder. “Damian, this is—”

“Lois Lane.” Damian stepped forward. There were no introductions needed for a Pultizer winner like her; he didn’t always agree with her views, but her reporting was top-class. It was too bad she’d married this nobody. He held out a hand. “Charmed.”

Dick, Tim, and Stephanie burst into laughter, while Cassandra looked confused by the whole exchange. A puzzled Ms. Lane took his hand and shook it, before glancing at his father and raising a brow. “Did you finally clone yourself?”

“No, he’s…” His father rubbed his neck. “He’s just polite.”

“ _Polite_ ,” Tim muttered, disagreeing.

“It’s cute.” Mr. Kent grinned as he rested his hand on a boy Damian hadn’t noticed before. He must have come with Lois Lane. “Damian, this is our son Jon. He was at the meet too.”

Damian took a second to study the stranger—he looked rough and tumble like his father, and with none of the intelligence that shown in Ms. Lane’s eyes. A moron.

“You were awesome, Damian.” Jon stepped forward eagerly. “Next time, we’re definitely racing.”

No, a _slow_ moron. If they hadn’t competed, then he didn’t even make the finals. His lips curled in disgust and he turned back to Ms. Lane, utterly disinterested. “Are you working on another investigation?”

All three adults stared at him. His father groaned. “Damian…”

Jon blinked, surprised. “Huh?”

“That’s…” Ms. Lane glanced at his father wryly. “The apple doesn’t grow too far from the tree, huh? Didn’t this happen when you first met us?”

“Please don’t bring it up,” his father muttered, looking embarrassed.

“He’s like this with everyone, trust me,” Stephanie consoled the young boy.

“With everyone not important,” Damian corrected, rolling his eyes. It was bad enough that he couldn’t get the Wayne idiots out of his life, he didn’t need to repeat the mistake with others.

Dick groaned. “Damian, we’ve been over this—”

“Like I’m gonna be friends with an asshole,” Jon snapped, glaring at Damian. “I’ll beat you next time. Then we’ll see who’s ‘not important’.”

“Like to see you try,” Damian snorted. “Once a loser—”

“Language!”


End file.
